


via the rearview mirror

by serpentkinglink



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anxiety, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20724983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentkinglink/pseuds/serpentkinglink
Summary: He and Rhett weren’t born creatures of luxury--all they ever really needed was the night, the stars, and each other. It was how things began between them, and how things would always be.





	via the rearview mirror

Link finds him outside, one hand curled around a melted glass of gin and tonic, the other busy scrolling through his phone. To anyone else he just looks bored—leaned against a tall planter, ankles crossed lightly, he is the epitome of louche and casual. But Link’s known him long enough to know better. There’s tightness around his eyes, a hunched curl to his broad shoulders and a pinch to his mouth that says otherwise. 

“Hey,” Link says as he approaches, and watches Rhett flinch almost imperceptibly, just a quick blink and twitch of his shoulders as he glances up from his phone. 

“Hey,” Rhett says back. Neutral. Not a hint of strain in his voice, but then again, he’s always been a good actor. 

Around them, the schmoozing continues, executives in cut suits and designer dresses mingling and drinking, sounds of laughter and pleasantries floating by. All of it carefully curated and perfectly impersonal. 

They’ve been in the entertainment business for years, and should be used to it by now—but Link will never not find it strange that someone can shake his hand without looking him in the eye. 

“Ready to get going?” Link says.

“Thought you were still talkin’ to?...”

“Ari Emanuel? No. He’s a dick. Stevie’s got it handled. Already told her we were heading out early.” It’s a flat out lie, and Link makes a mental note to text her later, and apologize for dipping out early. 

“Okay,” Rhett says without debate, hastily shoving his phone down into the pocket of his bespoke jacket and throwing back the rest of his watered down drink in two gulps. Link watches his adam’s apple bob, the long line of his throat working as he swallows. The slight shine of sweat near his temples, gathered there from a night of drinking, and moving through crowds on a late summer evening in LA. He must be warm in his suit.

Link tears his gaze away quickly before Rhett can catch him looking. 

“You good to drive?” Rhett asks quietly, as they make their way towards the back exit of the venue. Usually, Link hates pulling an Irish goodbye. It’s bad business practice, and just bad practice in general—the end of the night is when business cards are exchanged, and partnerships are struck. One final chance to make a good impression that could garner sponsorships and deals.

But they need to go. 

Rhett—Rhett’s gone quiet, more so than usual. Tension written in the way he’s biting his lips, fingers fidgeting with the empty glass in his hands. Link should have known, after Rhett had excused himself from their last conversation to go use the restroom, and hadn’t returned. 

Link feels a pang of guilt--that was nearly an hour ago. How had it taken him this long to notice? 

Rhett detours briefly before Link can answer his question, moving to drop his empty gin glass off at the bartender’s table. Link watches him navigate through the crowd gathered there with surprising grace, for someone so large.

From the back, Rhett cuts an impressive figure. His sand colored suit clings to him in all the right places, and it hasn’t gone without Link’s notice that plenty of people have come up to Rhett throughout the night to comment on how great he looks. The clash of his trim appearance paired with the wild beard gives the illusion of a dangerous man, tamed into something docile, and elegant. A lion in a zoo. 

Rhett’s new self-pilgrimage into the arena of not giving a fuck is working out better than expected. Maybe a lot better. Maybe too much. 

Rhett circles back to where Link waits at the entrance, busy digging through his wallet looking for cash. 

“I’ve got...a fiver,” Link mumbles, to the unimpressed valet, “sorry I don’t usually carry cash on me.” 

Without a word, Rhett pulls out his own wallet and forks over a ten. 

“I’ll get you back,” Link says, to which Rhett waves him off with a hand. Expression inscrutable. And that, in and of itself, speaks volumes. Usually, Rhett would tease him, give him a hard time about being scatterbrained and unprepared. Usually _ Link’s _ the one begging to leave social events early, tired and grumpy well before they’ve had a chance to finish their first round of drinks. 

Link climbs into the car and the second Rhett’s buckled in, shifts into drive and pulls off onto the streets of LA. 

*** 

He keeps the radio volume low, driving mindlessly. Down the 101 headed south, the red tail lights of passing cars blur by in streams of light. 

But he’s not headed back home, to where they live above the valley--he knows where they need to go. 

***

It’s nearly midnight when Link pulls into the small, empty lot and parks neatly in a spot closest to the entrance to the beach. 

There are no other cars there--Link has half a mind to be anxious about the fact that he might get towed or ticketed at this hour, when the beach is technically closed. 

But he abandons the thought when he realizes that it’ll be worth it. That they need this.

_ Rhett _ needs this. 

In the fresh silence of the car, Link reaches over, slow, like he’s approaching a wounded animal, until he’s able to clasp a firm hand around the back of Rhett’s neck. 

The skin there is warm, muscles bunched tight and hot to the touch. 

Instantly, the grip reawakens Rhett from his half-dazed slumber--he hadn’t been sleeping, not really--just staring off into nothingness. Dissociated. 

Link squeezes gently, pushing his thumb in careful circles around the sensitive nerves and muscles there. Anchoring him. 

And slowly, like he’s coming out of a trance, Rhett comes back to the present, taking in their surroundings in bits and pieces. Looking out past the headlights of the car, the highbeams carving a swath of light out of the darkness, illuminating an endless stretch of sand, and the dark, black waves beyond. 

“Where’re we,” Rhett mumbles.

“Manhattan Beach,” Link murmurs back. They haven’t been here in years--it’s a long drive from where they live, and a relatively plain beach without many attractions, or fancy shops to visit. The exact reason why Link had picked it, hoping that it would be empty, and quiet. 

There’s no one around for miles. Just them, and the yawn of night, stars pinpricked in the sky.

“Oh,” Rhett says. Link can feel Rhett relaxing in increments, sinking lower into the seat with each press of his fingers. Under any other circumstance, this would be enough for Rhett to stir in his seat, groan low in his throat, and reach over to pop the buttons on Link’s collared shirt with a gleam in his eye, and intent in his nimble fingers.

But there’s nothing sexual about the way Link’s massaging him now—comforting him—bringing him back into his body. 

Rhett’s breathing evens out into something deep, and rhythmic, in through the nose and out through the mouth, and Link keeps on touching him, moving from his neck to the meat of his shoulder, digging his fingers into the hard knots of muscle there. 

“What’re we…” Rhett says. Licks his lips, the words coming out scratched up. 

“Thought you might wanna go see the ocean with me,” Link says, smiling a little. 

“It’s—“ Rhett glances at the dashboard, “12:43am.” 

“So? Ain’t like we got anywhere to be tomorrow.” 

In the sliver of moonlight coming in through the window, Rhett’s face is painted in shadows, everything in shades of black and soft grey. Beautiful in chiaroscuro, like a charcoal drawing of some ancient and powerful deity.

For a moment, he says nothing. And then, he nods. Slow. 

“Don’t gotta if you don’t wanna,” Link murmurs. Because he’s ready to turn the car around, if Rhett just wants to go home and wash off the anxiety from the party, and the smell of strangers’ perfumes. Link feels tired all the way down to the soles of his feet--he can only imagine how exhausted Rhett is. 

“I wanna,” Rhett says, voice barely above a croak. But another two breaths pass before he reaches for the handle of the car, and opens the door with a click. 

***

The sand is chilly underneath Link’s feet, and coarse too. He can’t remember the last time he set foot on a beach, now that they’ve got a private pool. But there’s something primal about the feeling of it, the way the sand shifts under his feet. It takes strength to put one foot in front of the other. 

Shoes in hand, they walk towards the sound of crashing waves. Link finds himself slowing his steps, matching them to Rhett’s. It’s a strange feeling--Link’s grown used to pushing himself to catch up with Rhett’s large strides, as he always forges forward in all things they do. Rhett’s constantly the one pushing ahead, while Link hangs back to examine the details. It feels strange, now that it’s flipped. 

They walk, and walk, and walk, and it feels like they’re walking to the edge of the world. They slow to a stop, right where the water laps up to shore and kisses the sand, their toes numbing in the ice cold salt water. Here, there’s the moon, and the stars, and the primordial rush and roar of waves.

Without much thought, Link reaches over and takes Rhett’s hand into his own, halting them from walking further into the cold. He holds Rhett’s large hand loosely, their fingers intertwined. The water rushes up to their shins, drenching their fancy trousers; but the punishing coldness of it is refreshing. Grounding them back into their bodies. Biting at their skin, as if to remind them _ you’re here, you’re here. _

But this moment isn’t for him. It’s for Rhett. Link just wanted to lead him here.

With a gentle nudge, Link tilts his head to let Rhett know that he’s going to sit in the sand a little ways away. To give him space, to do what he needs to. 

Link backs up a few paces and kicks the sand around until there’s a small crater, big enough to seat him and Rhett, and he sits down. Not caring that there’s sand sticking to his pressed dark pants, or that the salt water will eat away at the fabric on his trousers. 

He and Rhett weren’t born creatures of luxury--all they ever really needed was the night, the stars, and each other. It was how things began between them, and how things would always be.

Rhett stands still at the edge of the ocean a little longer, and though the water’s only up to his ankles, Link can see every push and pull of it washing away the stress of the evening, cleansing him. Bringing Rhett back to himself. 

Rhett’s always been most at peace with himself in nature, always held the philosophy that the closer humans are to their animalistic urges, the more human they feel. 

And looking at Rhett like this--hair wild, feet sunken in to wet sand, shoulders and face tilted up towards the moon, and the night above--Link thinks that there’s truth to it. Rhett is so _ human_. So beautiful. 

He stands there, and Link watches. Moments pass, and then Link closes his eyes too, letting himself breathe in the scent of salt, and sand. 

He feels rather than sees Rhett sink down next to him, minutes, or maybe hours later. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, sharing heat against the chill breeze blowing in from the ocean. Rhett leans his head into the crook of Link’s neck, seeking comfort, hair tickling at the side of Link’s face. The tactile nature of it sets Link’s nerves alight. 

“ ‘m sorry that I made you leave the party early,” Rhett whispers. So quiet that his words are almost carried away by the wind. 

“You didn’t make me do anything, bo,” Link says, firmly. 

“No, I...don’t know why I. Freaked like that. Just got all...in my head,” Rhett murmurs, to his feet in the sand. Shame curling him inwards. 

“Nuh uh,” Link reiterates, shifting so he can sling one arm over Rhett’s shoulder, pull their bodies flush side by side, not a hair's breadth of space between them. Rhett’s _ shivering_, small tremors running through him, and Link wishes he could open his chest, and let Rhett warm himself on the embers of Link’s heart. “Don’t apologize. Usually _ I’m _the one leavin’ you all by your lonesome.” It’s the truth--but more than that, Link knows why Rhett had wanted so desperately to crawl out of his skin at the party. 

Rhett doesn’t like feeling trapped. He’s cautious to a fault, doesn’t like it when he’s surrounded by too many strangers with no way out. Doesn’t like not knowing where all the exits are, being stuck in a cramped venue with drunk and handsy people, all clamoring for conversation, for connections and networking, a select few clamoring for something _ more. _Something neither of them are willing to give.

It’s draining. Link can’t stand the feeling of strangers in close proximity, and he knows Rhett well enough to know that he feels the same. They were raised with acres of woods and wide open spaces to roam in, no need for any company except each other. It’s no different now; they feel most at home together, listening to the natural sounds of the earth. 

“Thank you for bringin’ me here,” Rhett murmurs, into Link’s shoulder. 

“Woulda taken you to the Cape Fear River, but this was the closest I could do. Figured it would work, in a pinch,” Link says, smiling. Because the oceans and seas and rivers are all connected, and Link would like to think that some of that flowing river magic managed to find its way to LA.

Link turns to press a kiss to the side of Rhett’s head, right against his temple, hoping that he can convey all the words he doesn’t know how to articulate. _ Don’t be sorry. Don’t feel guilty. I love you. _

Rhett nuzzles into Link, seeking his warmth, and Link gives it, holding him until his shivers subside. Until they’re sharing body heat, holding steady to each other. 

“You missed,” Rhett whispers, moments later, apropos of nothing. 

“What?” Link murmurs, turning to look at Rhett, and catching his gaze. There’s a twinkle in Rhett’s eye, or maybe it’s just the reflection of the moon--but he’s calm, and happy, a hint of that classic cheeky grin shining through. He’s better now than before, and that’s all Link wants. _ He’s _ all Link wants. 

“You kissed my temple. You missed,” Rhett breaths, and then leans in, and Link feels Rhett’s lips press against his own. The heat of it melting like lava into his core, like a warm hand to hold, like a fire on a cold night. 

Link smiles into the kiss. Just them, and all that open ocean, and nothing else. 

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, this was supposed to be under 1k. Somehow, I'm now 2/2 for writing Link-comforts-Rhett fics--I promise that's not all I know how to write LOL. Un-betaed, all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Find me at [serpentkinglink](https://serpentkinglink.tumblr.com) on tumblr! 
> 
> Title has almost nothing to do with the fic, but it's taken from the lyrics of Star Treatment by The Arctic Monkeys. (The well-crafted imagery of 'seeings things via the rearview mirror on a long drive' inspired this fic...as well as the photos from the Audi Emmy's event.)


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